


Writing our names in blood

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blood, Canon Era, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Terrible People in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: He's not surprised when the young man’s voice echoes through the dirty walls, an amused edge in his tone, disrupting the silence of the alley they have taken shelter in, previously broken only by their ragged breaths."Oh, don't tell me you're scared!"





	Writing our names in blood

**Author's Note:**

> It's Montsous week so I might as well finally start to translate some of my old Montsous drabbles and one-shots. They're like—pretty old and the translation probably doesn't do the original any justice BUT I still wanted to bring them on the AO3 because I’m still a sucker for these two, apparently. Hope you enjoy!

They’ll never forget the thrill of the chase.

 

With his heart pounding in his chest, the smell of gunpowder and fresh blood still clinging to his nostrils, and the agitated shouts of the cops not too far behind him, Claquesous silently makes his way through the narrow alleyways and the darkest corners of the outskirts of Paris.

 

He doesn't turn around as he slips among the shadows cast by the few streetlights lighting up his surroundings, almost becoming one of the shadows himself. He doesn't turn around, as he doesn't need to look to know that Montparnasse is trailing close behind him, the blade of his blood-stained knife gleaming in the moonlight. They turn a corner, then another, then a third one to make their path as intricate as possible in the hopes of discouraging their pursuers. When Claqueous finally decides to come to halt, he hears a small sound coming from Montparnasse. A chuckle, so out of place it feels unnerving.

 

"Shut your mouth," he hisses, even if he knows his reprimands are wasted on him. Montparnasse is too stubborn, too proud to even _think_ of bowing his head and obeying his orders. Claquesous suspects he wouldn't sacrifice his ego if it meant saving his own life – not for his own sake, not for anyone else’s. Especially not for Claquesous.

 

He's not surprised when the young man's voice echoes through the dirty walls, an amused edge in his tone, disrupting the silence of the alley they have taken shelter in, previously broken only by their ragged breaths.

 

"Oh, don't tell me you're scared! Someone like you, someone who--"

 

"I said shut your mouth or I will make you!" Claquesous interrupts him, without even sparing him a disapproving glare. Montparnasse lets out a full-blown laugh, this time, seemingly uncaring of danger or maybe high enough on adrenaline to believe himself capable of challenging not only the law, but the world at large. He’d laugh in the face of death itself, and he’d find it awfully amusing.

 

"How romantic, of you," he purrs, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I love you too, 'Sous."

 

Only then does Claquesous look at him, his eyes by now used to the darkness drinking in the sight of the young man's body, elegant and inviting even when covered by layers and layers of fabric. His fine clothes, usually kept clean and in order with meticulous care, are now in disarray, a strand of dark hair has fallen on his pretty face and the flower he had tucked in the lapel of his coat has gone lost somewhere during the chase. Still, his lips are curled into a mischievous smile that really does suit his character, and one of his eyebrows is raised in a mocking gesture.

 

Montparnasse certainly doesn't miss how Claquesous' eyes linger a moment too long; his ego is flattered and, as much as he can pretend not to care for the attentions of someone like him, he struggles to hide a self-satisfied smirk. Claquesous tenses when he feels the young man's cold fingers brushing against his throat, curling at the back of his neck, yet he doesn't back away. He lets him move closer, and Montparnasse does so with the very same attitude of a black cat who's slowly but surely closing in to its cornered prey.

 

"Red suits you," he whispers, so terribly close to his lips now.

 

His hand shifts, so that his fingers can trace the outline of a single red bloodstain left on Claquesous' cheek. One of the few remainders of the crime they've carried out. When Montparnasse presses his lips against his, Claquesous forgets everything - even the sound of his own heart still racing in his chest. And even the fear he would never admit he could feel ceases to have any meaning.


End file.
